


would if i could

by staticpetrichor



Series: ACOTAR prompts [10]
Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Prison, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Magic prison tho, Mates, au inspired by the starless sea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22627369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staticpetrichor/pseuds/staticpetrichor
Summary: the second part to my fic "between bars". I'd recommend reading that first!!
Relationships: Feyre Archeron & Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand
Series: ACOTAR prompts [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429963
Comments: 2
Kudos: 52





	would if i could

**Author's Note:**

> this was inspired by Dayanna_Cahill_Fray_Chase's comment on the first part of this fic!

**Fe** yre stayed with him more often now. Losing entire days to the worlds he described in vivid detail, if only to witness that spark of excitement light up her eyes. Besides what else was there to do in a prison cell? Telling tales came naturally, product of hours spent entertaining his sister, the only difference being Feyre didn’t ask him to do the voices. ****

_Thank the Cauldron for small mercies._

Unfortunately, that was where his luck ran out. Despite starting this cautious friendship with Feyre, Rhys still lacked any and all intel that would allow him to get out of this hellscape. And while she may not have commented on the whole “helpless prisoner” farce, there was little chance she’d offer to play spy for him. 

But funnily enough he didn’t mind it as much as he once would have.

That _thing_ in his chest that he refused to name had settled into a peaceful sort of contentedness as they grew friendlier with one another. Rhysand couldn’t complain, not really. 

Not until today, when Feyre handed him his tray and all he could see were the dark purple splotches on either side of her jaw. They were undeniably fingerprints. Large fingerprints that had pinned her face in place. Tight and confining, _hard, hard enough to bruise._

Everything grew taut and quiet inside of him. In the cell, the adjacent hall. 

Because someone had hurt her. 

She didn’t speak to him and Rhysand was reminded of those horrible first few weeks. And, because he couldn’t let that happen, he found himself murmuring, “Are you alright?”

Which was the worst thing he could’ve said because she was absolutely not alright and if this _thing_ in his chest could hurt any worse he’d be surprised. But he’s wrong because her answering smile, tight lipped and drawn, made it fucking _ache._

“I’m fine. Still doing better than you.”

“That’s not saying much.” 

“Of course they stuck me with the smart-ass.”

Rhysand let out a forced chuckle, if only to break the tension that built between them, “Like there’s anywhere you’d rather be.” 

“Prick.”

“I try.” 

Feyre sat on the floor, back against the wall across from his cell, one ankle crossing over the other as she propped her legs out in front of her. Her eyes fluttered closed with a tired sigh and closed they remained as Rhys began to pick at his food. 

It gave him the opportunity to run appraising eyes over the rest of her, searching for some other injury. As if the bruises on her face weren’t enough to make him want to blow this entire cover, to say fuck it all and burn the place and all its inhabitants to the ground. His hands curled into fists, fingernails cutting into palms.

And Rhys knew he couldn’t do that. Not yet, not now. But if he kept staring and let his mind go any further that was precisely what would happen.

“No desire to hear my tales today, darling?”

Part of her mouth pulled up in a mockery of a smile, “If you’d like to tell me one, go ahead. It’s not like I could stop you anyway.” 

“Rude. Just for that I’m making it a boring one.” 

“As if you’re capable of making a story anything less than dramatic.”

“That was dangerously close to a compliment. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” 

Her dry laughter rang in his ears, more real than the rest of their conversation had been, and a part of Rhys’ chest relaxed. He shouldn’t push her. Not right now. He wasn’t the person she needed to talk to, because for all intents and purposes he was still very much her prisoner and she his warden. 

But at the same time a part of him argued, what if he was the closest thing she had to a confidant here? 

What if she needed him to hear what had happened?

“Do you want to talk about it? Or should I mind my own business?” He could pretend to do that, if it made Feyre more comfortable, he could hide the rage that nearly sent tremors down his arms. 

It was quiet for so long that he didn’t think she was going to respond and then - “It isn’t a big deal.”

“I don’t agree, sorry.” 

She snorted. Not in contempt but something else, something much more bitter, “Well, you’d be the first.” At that her eyes flew open, panicked and ashamed once more, as if she couldn’t believe what she had let slip.

“I didn’t mean it like that. He doesn’t mean to, it’s just an accident. It’s not like he, like he _likes_ it or something, he feels awful it’s just - he has a temper and- That’s, that’s all. Really.” 

“Do these accidents happen a lot?” And he didn’t need to know, doesn’t need a number because it’s happened once and once is far too many times. But he wouldn’t be able to sleep if he didn’t get some kind of confirmation, if he was left alone with thoughts of countless acts of abuse.

“No.” Feyre finally looked at him, face paling, “No. I wouldn’t have stayed if it did. Just once in awhile. This is the first time in months.” She added to combat Rhys’ apparently obvious disbelief.

“That doesn’t make it okay. You do know that, right?”

“It isn’t bad. It’s just what it is.”

He didn’t like that one bit, but there was something in the set of Feyre’s mouth that told him the topic was closed for the day, “Alright, I have an idea for today’s tale, have you heard the story of why the rooster crows?”

And there’s a vulnerability in her voice he’d never heard before as she said, “I have not. But I’d like to. Will you tell me it? Please?”

So Rhysand did. 

⁂

The bruises on Feyre’s face had nearly healed by the next day. She looked better, still tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix, but better. Rhysand’s shadows hadn’t brought him anything vital yet, but they were learning to sort through what he needed and what was unnecessary. Which meant he wasn’t going to be here much longer. 

Which meant he’d be leaving her here soon. 

And he didn’t want that. Didn’t think she wanted it either.

However an enemy’s cell was not the best place to ask if one of their guards would like to run off into the sunset with him. They barely even knew each other, stories notwithstanding. But then again she didn’t need to go with him. Maybe it would be enough for her to just _go_. 

Freedom was an intoxicating drug and one they all desperately craved. Feyre was no exception and he didn’t think that, if he offered, she would turn him down flat. Didn’t think she would throw it away without thoroughly considering it first. 

At least that’s what he told himself as the information he needed formed a nice little stockpile in his mind. 

⁂

It only took three days for Rhysand to get the rest of it together. And damn him if Feyre didn’t note the change in his behavior, if it doesn’t make her eyebrows pull together in something like surprise each time she sees him still in the cell. 

But it’s on that third afternoon, just as her shift started, that she leaned close to the bars and murmured, “You don’t plan on staying too much longer, do you?” 

“Do I look like I’m in the position to make a choice like that?

She wasn’t convinced and that _thing_ in his chest hummed with fondness at the dry smirk she offered in lieu of an answer. 

And just like that his mouth is opening before his head can catch up to it, “But if I were, you know hypothetically and all that, what would you think?” 

“I wouldn’t be too surprised.” 

He rolled his eyes. She’d given him an out, he could laugh it off and both would pretend like he’d never asked. But for some reason he couldn’t take it. So Rhys spoke once again, “Would you leave? If you could?”

“I can leave.”

“Ah but not in the ways that count. Would you leave them all behind for good? If you could?” 

“Maybe.” It’s a harsh word, quiet. Short and designed to end a conversation. Rhys let it do what it was meant to do. Just this once. 

Because “maybe” was more than enough to work with.

⁂

On the fifth day he decided he had to leave. His family would be worried to the point of doing something reckless and he didn’t want to cause them any more unnecessary pain. Rhysand was leaving whether or not Feyre was joining him. He would ask a final time and then he would respect whatever answer she had for him. Because he wasn’t some knight in shining armor come to rescue her. 

This was Feyre’s choice and he wouldn’t try and change her mind, wouldn’t take that away from her. 

He’d ask once more right before she left and then he would escape as soon as the next guard came in (Rhys sure as fuck wasn’t going to vanish when she was on duty, leave and force that sort of blame on her), disappear and risk never seeing her smile again. 

Never seeing her smile under the sun, bright and real, freckles darkening the bridge of her nose. 

Never seeing her smile under the moon, soft and raw, the pale glow illuminating subtle shades of blue in her eyes.

That _thing_ went silent, as if the very thought hurt too much to even consider. 

Fortunately, it didn’t have to wait for long. 

Feyre strode into the hall, something wild twisting her features, hands clasped tightly behind her as the man before her left with a grunt and a nod. Then she turned to Rhys as if she couldn’t quite believe what was happening. But before he could ask, before he could do much of anything, she had stuck an arm between the iron bars, turning over her palm and revealing a slender patina coated key.

Once more silence reigned. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I am. As long as your offer still stands, that is?”

“It does,” Rhys murmured, taking the key and wasting little time in freeing himself. Such a simple little thing and yet its weight was impossibly heavy in his hand.

He stepped out of the cell and offered Feyre a bow, “Thank you, darling.” 

A shocked sort of laugh parted her lips and Feyre murmured something unintelligible as she marched up the stone steps. She paused only once, right before pulling the door open.

“It is better out there, isn’t it?” 

He could lie and say it was or he could lie and say it wasn’t, either way there was no real answer besides -“It’s freedom.”

That smile touched her mouth once more and she nodded, determined this time, “To freedom then.” 

Rhysand closed the distance between them, let his hand brush against hers as they both stared at the door that was so much more than a door, “To freedom.”

_The thing about taking a leap was that it was so much better when you had company. Not because they would be able to catch you, or even piece you back together when the fall proved shattering._

_It was because you had someone willing to jump with you in the first place._


End file.
